Page 44 of Tough Justice

“So, what did that mean?” She nudged Deck with her shoulder, catching Brett and Evan exchanging looks again. Yikes. Okay, then. No touching in public.

Deck took a swig from the beer bottle. “Whenever a federal agent discharges a firearm, let alone shoots someone, a board of inquiry convenes to review the facts. When someone dies, the scrutiny is worse. A shooting is considered ‘good’ when it’s legally justified. Until then, I’m on the beach, meaning I’m relegated to admin duty.”

“You killed someone? When?” How had she missed that?

“In Loveland,” he answered matter-of-factly.

“The same night that—” She’d nearly been shot through the door of his SUV. She’d been so completely freaked out, she hadn’t even known someone had died. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Deck shrugged. “Forget it.” He guided her to the foosball table. “I’ll teach you how to play.”

Deck’s friends stood shoulder to shoulder on one side of the table, while she and Deck took positions opposite them.

“You’ll be offense. You’re responsible for these two players.” He indicated to the two handles near the center of the table. “I’ll be defense.” He gripped the handles closest to one of the goals at the end of the table. “The ball is dropped in the center. You can push, pull, or turn the handle to make the man kick the ball into your opponent’s goal.”

“Got it.” She closed her fingers around the handles, turning her wrist awkwardly, trying to get a feel for how to manipulate the plastic men attached to each rod. “How many goals wins the game?”

“Five. But let me show you a better way to hold the handles. It’ll help you to move the men easier.”

He stood behind her then placed his hands atop hers and adjusted her grip. His chest pressed against her upper back, his thighs against her ass. With his arms around her shoulders, she was completely cocooned by warm, solid muscle. Goose bumps paraded straight up her arms to her neck, and her entire body heated.

“That’s it.” He helped her turn her wrists in each direction. “Better?”

“Um, yeah.” Aside from the solar flares flaming my face.

Brett pursed his lips. “You guys gonna get a room, or are you gonna play ball?”

That did it. Can anyone say “up in flames”?

“Wise ass.” Deck released her hands and took up position to her left. “Drop it in,” he ordered. “Losers buy next round.”

Evan dropped the ball in the center of the table. Tori flicked her wrist, shooting the ball straight into the goal.

“Whatdya know?” Brett scratched his chin. “We’ve got a ringer, here.”

Deck puffed up his chest. “Maybe I’m just a great teacher.”

“I swear, this is my first time I ever played foosball.”

“Uh-huh.” Evan nodded. “Sure it is.”

Twenty minutes later, she and Deck were up three games to one.

“We’re getting crushed,” Evan said. “How about we take a break and get another round? C’mon, Brett. I’ll buy this one.” The two men headed for the bar, leaving her and Deck alone.

“You were right,” she said. “This is a great way to blow off steam. But I would’ve figured you more for going to the gym and pumping iron instead.”

Deck pulled out a chair for her at the hightop. “We do that, too,” he admitted. “When I’m lifting weights, all I think about is work. When I play foosball, I’m watching the balls, thinking about strategy, estimating the angles. It’s a quick game, so there’s no time to think about anything else. Like work.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Like Aidan. The boy he couldn’t help. The incident still bothered him, and his headache apparently hadn’t gone away. He should have taken the aspirin she’d offered.

Deck pulled his phone from his belt, staring for a moment at the screen. “Sorry, I have to take this.” He went to the nearest door, pushing it open and stepping outside.

Tori looked around the bar. This certainly wasn’t how she’d expected to be spending the evening. Playing foosball, of all things, and thoroughly enjoying herself with a DEA agent and his federal friends. She never saw that coming. Or kissing him and kind of hoping it will happen again.

“Here you go.” Brett slid another Chardonnay in front of her, giving her a closer look at the burn on his forearm. The black swirly things were definitely part of a tattoo.

Evan plunked baskets of curly fries, nachos, and loaded potato skins on the table. The heavenly smells of melted cheese and more carbs than she’d seen in months wafted to her nose.